Brynjolf & The Dragonborn
by NeonStar89
Summary: Brynjolf starts to learn more about his 'lass'. Rating may change depending on how chapters pan out.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with the Elder Scrolls series. All I own is this version of the Dragonborn, based on my own character in the game.

Arrows

Brynjolf was late getting back from the Bee and Barb. Very late. Talen-Jei it seemed had asked Keerava to marry him, finally. As such, the mead was far more free-flowing than usual and for longer. And Brynjolf was by no means the last to leave. Inside the Bee and Barb, life was bright, colourful and relaxed. Outside of the inn, things were tense. Word had reached Riften that Whiterun had been attacked by the Stormcloaks and taken under their control. Citizens that were loyal to Balgruuf and the Empire had fled, seeking asylum in the other Holds. None had come as far as Riften but there was time yet. Many members of the Thieves Guild had flooded back in the last few days, seeking refuge in the cisterns under the city. This sudden influx made the city guards nervous. With the civil war gathering pace and the numbers of dragons soaring, everyone just wanted to go home, to go where they felt safe. But there had been no word on the lass for almost a week.

The lass, that auburn-haired slight, little thing he'd picked up on a whim in the marketplace. Who could have known she'd have found a natural knack for thievery? Last he'd heard she'd been on her way to Solitude to deal with Gulum-Ei. If that Argonian prick had hurt her…no, the lass was smarter than that, stronger and quicker too. No doubt if Gulum-Ei pulled a knife on her, she'd already have one of her own at his scaly throat. Perhaps she had got caught up in some other trouble. All it would take is being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or maybe she'd been caught out by a dragon. No, the dragon one was the least likely. He remembered the day she had gone to Goldenglow. A few hours later, the ground had shook and so had the Flagon. The thieves had rushed over ground to see what had happened. Brynjolf and Mercer had slipped out through the entrance in the graveyard only to see a dragon skeleton lain out on the grass in front of them and the lass, slightly out of breath, stood next to it. She claimed it had spotted her on her way to Goldenglow. She had turned back and it had followed her. Thankfully, the aim of all of Riften's guards had been true and the dragon had been brought down quickly with only a few minor burns to show for it.

A few days later, Brynjolf had overheard odd rumours about the lass. Stories of her shouting strange words at the dragon, of her raiding the skeleton for bones and scales and of light flying out of the dragon and into her. That had sparked stories of the Dragonborn returning. No, it was silly. His lass wasn't the Dragonborn. She was just a little Nord girl who had got lost on the back roads and wound up in Riften by mistake. With all the coin she had been carrying, she was undoubtedly some lord's daughter who had run away from home to look for some adventure. Well, she'd found it in Riften. He'd spotted her first of all coming out of the Temple of Mara and then perusing the market stalls. He'd decided to tease her and been quite surprised when she had responded with a warrior's tongue. It had taken her a while after getting caught by the guards to pluck up the courage to come find him but she had come and he'd been glad. After that first mistake, she had never gotten caught again.

He nudged the button to open the entrance to the cistern, rubbing his eyes. All he wanted right now, was to fall asleep on his soft bed. He would have preferred it if he hadn't been alone but all the women in the Bee and Barb had been far too drunk. It would have been like fucking a corpse and he'd have felt bad about taking advantage the next day. He didn't want to deal with that and a hangover. The cisterns were deserted. As he entered the Flagon, he found even Vekel and Tonilia had retreated to bed for a few hours. There was no sound and all but one of the lanterns were out. Except Brynjolf was sure he could hear breathing. There was a groan and a loud smash. He grabbed the only lit lantern and looked around. Then he saw the horned iron helmet and quiver of arrows that he had spotted that day in the market and that hair, the beautiful auburn hair that had been braided. Now it was loose and knotted. Her helmet wasn't clean; it had scratches and scuffs of mud and grass. Her armour had scorch marks too.  
"Lass!" Brynjolf said, rushing to her side. He set the lantern down and rolled her over. She had knocked a plate and several tankards off the bar when she had collapsed and now he saw why. Blood seeped through the gaps in her armour. Arrows. Brynjolf lifted her head up.  
"Lass? Can you hear me, lass?" he said. She groaned, her eyes still closed. He slid one arm under her neck before grabbing the lantern with the other and lifting her knees with it. She was hurt and needed help. But not here. He couldn't let the other thieves see her like this. He felt the need to protect her.

Brynjolf took her back to a little part of the cisterns that he called home. An alcove that had been bricked off save for a wooden door. It wasn't huge, but he had a king-sized bed, an end table, chest, half-empty bookcase, a table and two chairs. This was Brynjolf's space. This is where he slept, his private little sanctum. Only Mercer and Vex had ever been in here. And now the lass. He put the lantern on the end table before laying her down on the bed, trying not to jar her as he did so. He lit the other lanterns in the room, so he had enough light to examine her wounds.  
"Alright, lass," he said, "I'm going to take a look at you, get you sorted out, ok?" The lass just whimpered. Now she was lying on his bed, she looked even smaller. For the first time, Brynjolf found himself wondering how old she was. Then more questions came unbidden into his mind. Where was she from? Why had she come to Riften in the first place? Did she have any family? What was her first name? She'd always been 'Lass' to him, everyone else had just called her 'Newbie' or his protégé. Could it have been that no one had bothered to ask her name? Then again, she hadn't exactly offered up the information. Brynjolf blinked and tried to focus on the task at hand. He had to remove her armour to treat her wounds.  
"Alright lass, I need to remove your armour," he said to her, though he wasn't sure how much she understood at this point. He stood up straight before removing her helmet. Her eyes were scrunched shut and there was sweat on her brow. He reached over her and unfastened the buckles on her armour before slowly removing it. It came off easily enough until he reached the side where the wounds were. She screamed when he gave it a firm tug to finally remove it. Brynjolf fought to keep his eyes on her wounds. She wore nothing underneath her armour. He reached over her and pulled over one of the smaller pelts that covered his bed to cover her before focussing on her wounds. There was dried blood all over her side along with fresh blood from when he'd removed her armour. She had three arrows embedded in her side, the shafts still sticking out.  
"I know, lass," Brynjolf said, reaching up and placing his hand on her brow, "I know it hurts, I'm going to help you." He took another look at her side. He needed to clean it up first. He left to go fetch some water and some clean rags. When he came back, she had moved. She was half way to being sat up, leaning against the cold stone, one arm clutching the pelt to her chest.  
"It's going to be alright, lass," he said, setting the water and rags on the floor next to the bed. She nodded a little.

Brynjolf fetched a few items from the chest at the bottom of his bed. A knife, needle, thread and a piece of leather. He dipped a rag into the water and began to clean up the dried blood. She winced and her breaths turned to pants.  
"I know, lass, I know," Brynjolf said, trying to soothe her. Once cleared, he could see the arrows more clearly. It was as he had feared, the arrowheads were completely sunken into her flesh. He'd have to cut her to get them out.  
"I'm going to have to cut you, lass," he said gently. He looked up at her, expecting to see fear. Instead she just looked him in the eye and said, "Do it." Her voice shook a little but that was probably from her injuries rather than fear.  
"Right," Brynjolf said. He took the scrap of leather and put it in her mouth, for her to bite down on. He decided to go for the top one first.  
"Alright," he said, "Here we go." He didn't hesitate; he just cut a slit in her flesh. She screamed, biting down on the leather to muffle it. Her fists clenched into the pelt and her eyes shut. Brynjolf eased the arrow out and quickly pressed a clean, dry rag to it to stem the bleeding. Her breaths were shallow and the sweat had returned. She was trembling and Brynjolf felt a pang of guilt.  
"Just two left to go," he said. She nodded. He quickly repeated the steps with the second one but when he cut for the third one, she dropped the leather, screamed and slumped as she passed out. Brynjolf cauterised her wounds by heating the knife before sewing them shut to encourage healing, then he wrapped a bandage around her to keep them clean. Not an easy task when he was trying to avert his gaze from her naked flesh.

She whimpered a little as he finished tying the bandage and lay her down. He pulled the big bear pelt over her. It was the comfiest and the warmest one he had. He'd sleep in a chair tonight, to keep an eye on her. He tucked her hair behind her ear. She seemed to be sleeping peacefully at least. The thought reassured him as he sat in one chair and propped his feet up on the other. He'd ask her all those questions tomorrow. Like how old she was, where she had come from, why she had come to Riften, where her family was, what her name was and most importantly, where she had gone to be pierced by the Imperial arrows that were now scattered across his table.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with the Elder Scrolls series.

A/N: I spent fifteen minutes on Tumblr last night and came to two general conclusions. 1 – we all wish we could marry Brynjolf and 2 – we love it when he calls us lass…or lad, depending on how you swing. Also, the rating on this has changed to M because neither Brynjolf nor the Dragonborn will behave themselves. You'll see in the next few chapters.

Lakeview Manor

Brynjolf woke when he slid off the chair the next morning. He swung his hand out to stop his fall but still landed in a haphazard pile on the stone floor. He looked up at the bed. The lass was still. He stood up to get a better look. The bear pelt was rising and falling gently. She was fine. Well, as fine as she could be. His head pounded. The mead from last night had come back to haunt him. He needed food and something to drink. He made his way to the door and slipped out as quietly as possible.

He had just made his way into the Flagon when he heard someone shout his name.  
"Brynjolf, over here!" It was Vex. She was sat with Delvin and Sapphire, eating breakfast. Brynjolf joined them, though he didn't plan on staying long. He helped himself to some bread from the plate at the centre of the table and tore a piece off. As he chewed, he noticed Vex and Sapphire were smiling at him.  
"What?" he asked, starting to feel nervous at the women's grins.  
"Who is she?" Sapphire asked.  
"Who?" Brynjolf asked, wondering if someone had seen him last night.  
"Don't play coy, Brynjolf," Vex said, "We heard her screaming last night. You're the only man in the Guild who can make a woman scream like that."  
"I wasn't so lucky last night, Vex," he said, "I slept alone. Perhaps some other lad was feeling lucky."  
"Speaking of lucky, Etienne Ramis walked back into the cisterns this morning," Sapphire commented.  
"Etienne? He's been missing for months," said Delvin.  
"Apparently, he was captured by the Thalmor," Sapphire continued, "They thought he might know the whereabouts of someone they were looking for."  
"The Thalmor? Then he is an incredibly lucky man," said Brynjolf, "How did he escape?"  
"That's the interesting part," said Sapphire, "According to Etienne, your lass walked in, dressed in Elven Armour, fighting the Thalmor soldiers. She rooted through some chests, took some papers and then let him out."  
"But isn't she supposed to be in Solitude, talking to Gulum-Ei?" said Vex, "Why would she be at the Thalmor Embassy?" The last part of her question was aimed at Brynjolf. He swallowed his mouthful of food, about to answer when…  
"Brynjolf!" Mercer's voice filled the Flagon. Brynjolf looked over at the Guild's leader.  
"With me now!" Mercer ordered. Brynjolf took a swig of the watered-down mean he'd been given by Vekel and followed Mercer out into the cisterns. It was empty, everyone was either still out or sitting down for breakfast.  
"Brynjolf, I think it's safe to say I've been more than patient with you and your little protégé," Mercer began, giving Brynjolf a sinking feeling in his stomach, "But Maven Black-Briar came to see me last night. Apparently she told your little lassie to clear out that meadery near Whiterun over three weeks ago. It should have taken a week, not two! Then she had the cheek to give Maven attitude when Maven expressed her disappointment. I won't interfere in this instance but get your little whelp under control. Maven Black-Briar is what keeps this Guild alive. I'd rather cut one of my limbs off than lose Maven's business. Do I make myself clear?"  
"Yes, Mercer," Brynjolf said.  
"You may go," Mercer said, returning to his ledger. Brynjolf turned around and left back through the Flagon. He grabbed a bottle of mead and some food from the table he'd been sat at, telling Vekel to put them on his tab before heading back to his room. There was definitely something the lass wasn't telling everyone. The Thalmor Embassy, Whiterun, what was she doing out there in the rest of Skyrim? As he made his way through the Ratways back to his room, he saw Vex and Sapphire.  
"Brynjolf, we've got a heist," Vex said, "We could use you there."  
"Sorry, ladies," Brynjolf said, "But I'm going on a sabbatical." He brushed past them as they stared at him. He didn't stop until he reached his room and he wasn't going to leave until he had some answers.

It took three days before the lass had recovered enough from her injuries. The vials of homemade health potions he gave her made her woozy and delirious; he couldn't get any sense out of her. So for three days, Brynjolf didn't leave his room. Vekel brought food and drink to him and Brynjolf paid him from the gold he had accumulated over his years as a thief. But no one came in or out. For three days, Brynjolf sat and slept in a chair, waiting for her to wake up enough to answer his questions. Every day, he changed her bandages, to check on how her wounds were healing and doing his best not to look at her body. But each day, he still snuck a glance. She had a woman's body, with full, round breasts that dipped into a slight waist before rounding out on her hips. Each day, he felt guilty about looking but he couldn't help himself. He couldn't help admire her body. He couldn't help but frown when he saw a recent scar low on her abdomen. He almost missed it at first. It looked rough, jagged. It wasn't from a blade made by a blacksmith that was for sure. There was a bigger mystery behind this girl than it first seemed. But at least he had a name now. To pass the time, he had begun to clean her armour. After picking up the breast plate to clean it, a folded piece of paper had fallen out. It was a charter for some land in Falkreath Hold called Lakeview Manor. Not only did he know where the lass called home outside of Riften but he also had a name. Leif Erdolliel. So that was her name, or at least a name she went by.

When she awoke on the third day, Brynjolf was waiting patiently at her side.  
"Brynjolf?" she said slowly as she sat up, "How did I?... Where am I?"  
"You're in my private quarters in the Ratways," Brynjolf said, pouring some weak Nord Mead into a tankard and handing it to her, "Which is where you've been for three days, since I found you collapsed on the floor of the Flagon." She took the tankard before curiously peaking under the bear pelt that covered her.  
"Oh," she said, before taking a gulp of mead, "Thank you."  
"Don't mention it, Leif," he said.  
"What did you call me?" she asked, her head spinning sharply to look at him.  
"That is your name isn't it? Leif Erdolliel?" Brynjolf said. She hesitated before nodding.  
"Yes," she answered.  
"Well, Leif Erdolliel, I have some questions for you," Brynjolf said, "But they can wait until I've taken you home."  
"Home?" she asked.  
"Yes, home," Brynjolf replied, "You need fresh air and I've always wanted to see Lake Ilinalta."  
"How did you know that?" Leif said.  
"I found this when I was cleaning your armour," he said, handing her the charter. She snatched it from his grasp.  
"You've got a lot of secrets it seems," Brynjolf said, watching her carefully. She was ever so slightly turned away from him, a defensive posture. She was afraid.  
"It's alright, lass," he said, reverting back to his pet name for her, "Look, I've already arranged it all with the carriage driver. We leave tonight at sundown." Leif nodded.  
"Good," said Brynjolf, "Now, I need to go excuse myself with Mercer. I'll be back soon." He stood up to leave. As he reached for the door, Leif spoke again.  
"Brynjolf," she said. He paused, his hand on the door, looking over his shoulder at her.  
"Thank you," she said, "For looking after me."  
"You're welcome, lass," he replied, smiling at her briefly before leaving.

That evening, just before sundown, they left his quarters. Brynjolf was carrying Leif's gear with one arm around her shoulders. She limped a little, her side still hurting. He'd given her some spare clothes. An old shirt and a hood to hide her face. Mercer hadn't been happy when Brynjolf had told him he would be leaving town for a while. His mood had worsened when Brynjolf had lied and said he didn't know where Leif was. The Guild Master had looked at him suspiciously. Brynjolf knew that Mercer could tell he was lying about something. But Brynjolf wouldn't let on that he knew exactly where his lass was. She was still new to the Guild, still raw. She'd made some mistakes along the way, same as the rest but it was the time it took for her to do the job that was the issue. Mercer wasn't the most patient man in the world and in order to protect her, Brynjolf needed to know what she was hiding. To do that, he needed to get her to trust him, and to get her well again. He couldn't do that in Riften. The Ratways were too dark, cold and damp, not to mention unfamiliar to her. He wanted to get her home, somewhere where they wouldn't be disturbed, where he could build a big fire to keep her warm. Somewhere she could relax. They made it out of the Ratways without being spotted and quickly through Riften to the gates.  
"Halt!" called a guard as they approached. Brynjolf tensed.  
"What are your names?" the guard demanded.  
"Brynjolf and Leif," he answered. The guard looked at the second guard who had a roll of parchment in his hand. The second guard looked on the parchment and then nodded.  
"Very well," the first one said, "With the war escalating and dragons roaming about, the jarl has given new orders, only those with transport arranged or in large groups may leave. The carriage driver said you'd arranged transport to Falkreath. Stay safe, travellers." Brynjolf let out a sigh of relief as they went through the gates. That was going to put a serious dampener on business for the thieves guild, not being able to leave on a whim. But that wasn't his problem right now. Let Mercer and Maven deal with the Jarl's orders. He was going to Falkreath Hold.

At the stables he first put her gear on the carriage then lifted Leif in.  
"Ready, Brynjolf?" the carriage driver called. Brynjolf hoisted himself in, settling into the seat next to Leif.  
"Ready," Brynjolf replied. There was a lurch and they were on their way. Leif leaned against him. She was still feeling rather weak. In the three days she had been in his care, he hadn't been able to get a lot of food in her, just the odd bit of soup when she'd half come round. He had no idea how she'd fended for herself in the days it had taken to get from Whiterun to Riften. The temperature was dropping rapidly, so he pulled her in close so he could wrap her in his cloak. He tried to ignore the warm feeling that spread through him as he felt her soft form pressed against his side, her head resting on his shoulder. 'It's just to keep her warm,' he thought, 'That's why she needs to be so close.' With his arm around her, he could feel every breath she took and as Lake Honrich gave into Treva River, he felt them even out. She was asleep, one hand resting on him. His lass. That's what everyone had been calling her, 'your lass' 'your little lassie'. He looked down at her slumbering form. He'd been closer to her than anyone else he'd brought into the Guild, true, and he wouldn't deny she was attractive. But did everyone else see something he didn't? He could smell her hair, like fresh air and snowberries. He shook his head and turned away. It wasn't right. He was meant to be caring for her; not lusting after her like she was some wench in the Bee and Barb. His arm involuntarily flexed when he thought about other men looking at her the same way. His gut boiled with a rage he was unfamiliar with. The movement of his arm pressed her closer to him and she made a soft noise, halfway between a moan and a sigh. Her hand slid down him, dangerously close to his groin. He quickly snatched it up and moved it back to his chest where it clutched to a strap on his armour. There would be time for that later, he decided, when he knew who she was, when he had his answers and when she was well again. When he knew her mind, then he would know her body, learn every curve, every sensitive spot, what made her weep, what made her scream. Until then, he had to help her heal.

The sun was rising as they came up to Helgen the next day. Four times in the night they'd been forced to shelter or change their road by the roars of a passing dragon. Brynjolf couldn't help but admire how well-trained the beast that pulled the carriage was. It didn't make a sound as the driver had guided it into the trees or a cave, standing stock still until the danger had passed. Leif had slept through it all, though every time they heard a dragon roar, she had frowned in her sleep and muttered "Fus" over and over in her sleep. These route changes had led them through the mountains and now they had to pass through Helgen. As the carriage bumped and rolled over the broken road, Brynjolf looked down at his lass. Her eyes were open.  
"Stop the carriage," she said, pulling away from Brynjolf. His side instantly felt cold.  
"Stop the cart!" she shouted, making the driver jump and pull on the reins to stop the horse.  
"Lass?" Brynjolf called as she scrambled out of the cart and towards the remnants of the settlement. She stood still, staring up at the burnt ruins. There was evidence of bandit activity but it looked like Falkreath guards now had control.  
"Something the matter, lass?" Brynjolf asked, pressing his hand to the small of her back as she rubbed one arm.  
"Helgen," she said, "I was here. The day the dragon attacked." Her hand reached up and touched the thin scar that came down her cheek from her left eye. He reached over and covered her hand with his.  
"How did you get that?" he asked gently. Her eyes were wide and frightened. Clearly being here brought back some terrible memories.  
"An Imperial soldier," she said, "Backhanded me, his gauntlet cut my face." Not a lot to go on, but it was something. Any other occasion, Brynjolf might have asked what she had done to merit a slap but instead his hands trembled slightly with anger that someone had dared raise a hand to her. There was a story behind her being at Helgen and he wanted to hear it. He saw a single tear slide down her face.  
"Here, here, lass," he said, moving his hand from her lower back to her shoulders and pulling her in close, "That soldier is long gone, so is that dragon. It's just you and me. One more hour and we'll be at Lakeview. I'll get a nice fire going, and I'll fix us something to eat." There were no sniffles or sobs but her head did press against his shoulder and nod. He raised his hand and stroked her hair. It was soft and smooth as silk. He tried to imagine what it would be like to run his hands through it as he brought her down from heights of ecstasy.  
"Let's get back in the carriage," he said, before gently guiding her towards it. They were so close now, he didn't want her running. His hand slipped into hers and it felt right.

An hour later, the carriage stopped outside Lakeview Manor. Brynjolf was fairly impressed. She was doing quite well for herself apparently. The house had an entryway, a main hall and two wings. He could see some construction tools set up to one side and the beginnings of a stable across the road. Piles of lumber sat to one side. Clearly she was still working on the house.  
"Alright, lass, home sweet home," he said as he opened the door. It was cold inside the house, no signs of embers in the fireplace in the main hall. 'No housecarl then,' he thought, 'Good, just the two of us.' She muttered something about getting changed and disappeared through a door on his left. He caught a glimpse of a bed before she shut the door. He turned around and set about building a fire in the large fireplace. It was just starting to warm the hall, and the pot of water he'd put over it, when she reappeared in a simple blue tunic and linen trousers. Brynjolf watched her as she sat down at the large table, wincing slightly. He needed to change her bandages. He swung a second cooking pot over the fire to start warming the water to make a stew. He'd procured some good venison in Riften before they had left. She needed something hearty to build her strength up. Reaching in the pack he had brought with them, he pulled out some rags and bandages before removing the first pot of warm water.  
"I need to check your wounds, lass," he said, resting the pot on the table and sitting down. She hesitated for a moment. Her eyes flicked from the bandages to his hands that rested on his knees then finally up to his face.

There was still a small amount of fear there and he understood why. He'd found out so much about her after all this time, it must be overwhelming to have him know so much. She nodded and lifted her tunic to reveal the bandage. She didn't lift it all the way but Brynjolf had to swallow and concentrate when he saw the underside of her breasts just peeking out. He focussed on untying the knots and sliding the bandages down. He heard her sharp intake of breath as his fingers slid down her sides. He didn't know if it was from pain or something else. Her wounds seemed to be healing nicely though it would be a couple more days before he could remove the stitches. Thankfully it seemed the arrows hadn't been tipped with any poisons. He dipped a rag in the warm water and gently cleaned around them, wiping away any small flecks of blood that had appeared before using a dry rag to wipe away the excess water. His knuckles grazed the underside of her breasts by accident.  
"Sorry," he said softly, not really meaning it. The lass just made a soft noise. Brynjolf moved to kneel in front of her to wrap the bandage around her, his eyes kept slipping to the soft mounds of flesh, barely concealed by her tunic. He couldn't help himself. He couldn't stop staring at them, picturing how they seemed to be the perfect size for his hands. He felt his blood rush down towards his groin and tried to fight it. He could feel her eyes watching him and his hands shook slightly as he began to tie the knot. The images in his head were too damn powerful. He wanted to kiss her, lick her, listen to her moan and cry out. He couldn't suppress the groan of need that spilled from his throat. He quickly stood up and walked away from her, rubbing his face with his hands, trying to think of anything else. He didn't hear her move, he just felt her hands on his waist, turning him around to face her. He tried to close his eyes, to not see her face but he felt a hand on his cheek and he just had to look at her. She stood there with the first smile he'd seen on her face all day and it made his heart ache. She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. Her balance was a little off so she was partly pressed against him. Her breasts pressing against his chest and her hips cradled his now throbbing erection. He moaned and kissed her back, his hands resting on her upper arms. She pulled away after a moment and he instantly missed the feel of her soft lips on his.  
"Thank you," she whispered before kissing his cheek and moving away. She vanished through the doors back into the entryway, closing them behind her.


End file.
